


Writing Prompts Compilation

by Milkbonez



Category: Flight Rising, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Gen, Other, Other: See Story Notes, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24418135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milkbonez/pseuds/Milkbonez
Summary: A collection of shorts written for prompts, either on my own or for group writing activities with friends.Ch 1: Chaos (Flight Rising lore)Ch 2: Milk (DRV3 Shuichi drabble)Ch 3: Betrayal (DRV3 tickle drabble)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	1. Prompt 1: Chaos (Flight Rising)

**Author's Note:**

> I was given an hour to write something for the prompt, but because I was sharing it with friends unfamiliar with Flight Rising, I got caught up in exposition and ended up taking an extra half-hour. This is related to my clan lore. After a three-year hiatus, I rejoined, cleaned out some old dragons that aren't quite as pretty anymore, and got new ones. I stopped playing soon after, but I thought it would be fun to write about something besides Danganronpa V3 for once, lol.

Dragons of all breeds and colors gathered around the common room of the Cloakscreen Company’s living quarters. Some were seated at the stone slabs that were end tables, others on aging sofas made of Toridae leather, some Faes and Nocturnes on cushions stuffed with Snow Streak pinions. Cobalt, the great black Guardian dragon with a glimmering blue underside, set the second podium before the empty fireplace. He took his seat near the back so that smaller dragons – particularly all the Spirals – would be able to see the front.

All around him, dragons whispered amongst themselves, faces as grim as Cobalt felt inwardly. Cardeulis, a yellow-and-white Coatl, had her brow furrowed as she hummed and clicked at her lookalike mate Glory in their native Coatl tongue. Eomer, the blue-and-green Wildclaw, organized scrolls in his hands with a serious look on his face. The lime-green Capricorn, another Guardian, squeezed her brown cabbie hat in her claws as if wringing water out of it.

Finally, through the entrance came two of the three Company Heads. Taradiddle, a periwinkle Spiral, glided in and sat on one podium that seemed more like a high throne for her. She was naturally dwarfed in size by Lior, a black Guardian with gold circuitry markings, whose podium was more her size. All the dragons of the company hushed immediately.

Taradiddle held up a hollowed-out Rambra horn that served as a megaphone. “If we are all present,” she said, “then we would like to call this all-company meeting to order.”

Another Spiral down in front, Get, sprang into the air and twisted his long, serpentine body into a question mark. “Excuse me, I wanna ask why we’re having this meeting!” He landed in a coil on top of his cushion.

“Please wait to be called upon next time,” said Lior. “But to answer you, this meeting is because there is some… discontentment among some members of the main Company staff.”

Lothiriel, the Imperial who was Eomer’s lookalike mate, raised one leathery wing to speak. “Discontentment is an understatement. As a writer, I absolutely loathe what this company has become. The work we do here.”

“I agree!” said Bad Suns, a small green Skydancer who stood on Lothiriel’s antlers to better project his voice. “We used to report real news. Dominance battles, economic activity, the rise of new beastclans across the realm. Our correspondents could collect these amazing stories about other neighboring clans who were making advancements in technology, or place personal ads for dragons who needed to find their way home. And now what?”

Ace, a black-and-purple Guardian, piped up, “It’s all sensationalism now. Scandal this, advertising that. All we do now is chase rumors and look for ‘the next big scoop.’ Big scoop of hot garbage is what we’re peddling.”

Spectrum, a silver Imperial and Ace’s mate, added, “And who told us to write this junk? None other than Company Head Taradiddle.”

Taradiddle grumbled into the horn, “You’ll watch your tone for the rest of the meeting, miss Spectrum.” She cleared her throat, ensuring all eyes on her, and said, “I asked our writing staff to do what we had to do. Our newspaper subscriber count had been on the decline for the last hundred and fifty years. Less subscribers means less money for the clan. Sensationalism draws dragons in. It hooks them, gets them interested.”

Eomer stood up with his scrolls and papers in hand. “If I may?” When granted permission, he said, “The clans who have subscribed us had nearly doubled and stayed steady for a long time. But as of the last half-century or so, it went on the decline again. So, our tabloid worked for a little while. But it seems we’ve hit another rut again.”

“And part of that is because our writing staff hasn’t been making their deadlines,” said Taradiddle.

Spectrum piped up, “It’s because you force our correspondents to travel so much for stories that don’t exist!”

Cobalt stepped forward to speak. “Everyone here knows that I’m proud of my work, no matter what it is. I don’t really care for this sensational garbage, myself, but by gum I’m going to do my best. But lately, I too have been having trouble meeting deadlines.”

“See? Cobalt is the most passionate of all of us, but even he is having trouble!” said Bad Suns.

Zirehnda, a little Spiral sitting on an end table, asked, “What’s the big deal about newspaper profits, anyway? Doesn’t Cardeulis do a good job hawking her wares? And the goods collectors.”

In accented Common Draconian, the Coatl answered, “Well, I haven’t been able to sell much these days. Fashion tastes are getting more expensive across the realm. Only, shall we say, thrifty clans bother with me anymore. I can’t give the public what it truly wants.” Her head-feathers drooped as she said this. Glory gave her a nuzzle.

Lior added, “And as a good collector, I can say that raids to other territories has been increasingly fruitless. The stress of it all is straining relationships…” She shot a glance at fellow collectors Beowulf and Fulvius, a mated pair who had been having relationship troubles.

Cobalt clenched his jaw. His own relationship with Lior had been starting to go south, as well.

Spumoni, a seafoam-green Nocturne, fluttered down from the sofa, his crystal scales catching the light. “As an editor, I think it’s time to make a change somewhere. We need to regroup and reform so we can write a better paper.” His words sent mururing among the gathered dragons.

Lior asked, “So what is it that you propose we do?” Are there any ideas?”

Capricorn spoke up next. “My question is, is anyone really reading our newspaper anymore? It kills me inside to have my partners in the distribution side travel around Sornieth to deliver these papers for dragons who don’t want them.”

The very idea made everyone chatter nervously. “Don’t want the newspaper…?” “Been in this business for centuries… It’s too late to stop!” “…Too many flaws to the system.”

Taradiddle banged her Rambra horn on her podium to silence everyone. “It has been clear to me in recent times that our current way of life is no longer feasible. I’d like to propose dissolving the newspaper so that we can begin afresh by raising a big top and becoming a circus troupe!”

Lior whipped her head aside. “You never mentioned anything to me about that!”

Ivyrose raised her claw. “But we don’t know how to do circus stuff.”

Unvyre, a young green Guardian with a butterfly wing pattern, said, “We could learn, couldn’t we?”

“I think it would be a spectacular idea,” said Kvell the black-and-white Fae. Though his voice was characteristically monotone, his fluttering head-fins revealed his enthusiasm. “I have spent so long perfecting my sleight-of-hand tricks. The circus would be perfect for me.”

Penelope, the resident Snapper and the clan’s healer, shook her head. “I disagree! Learning stunts will just lead to more injury.”

“It certainly might,” said Taradiddle. “But I’m a circus brat. I could teach everyone, and pull some strings to get other teachers who would know how to perfect our stunts and acts.”

Lior growled, “No, we aren’t becoming a circus.”

“Why not?!” shouted someone in the crowd.

“Taradiddle never ran this through our system of checks and balances! We can’t just put this into place without the proper procedure!”

“It doesn’t sound half-bad!” said someone else. “Anything to get away from this boring tabloid.”

“I’m tired of maintaining this giant tree we call an office,” said one of the Nature dragons. “It’s so draining on my energy.”

“Writing stupid trash is draining on me!”

“I don’t want to leave my garden!”

“Everyone, be quiet! Lior is right – we can’t ignore Taradiddle’s blatant disregard for due process.”

But the plea went unaddressed. Everyone continued talking over each other.

“…travel the world!”

“I’ve always wanted to be an entertainer…”

“Need to start completely fresh in a new place!”

Cobalt ran up to the podiums and slammed down Taradiddle’s horn so hard that the horn cracked. The bang of the noise finally shut up the crowd. “This is still a meeting,” he said, “and there must be order until it’s over.”

Lior said, “Moreover, as per the rules of conduct, we won’t be considering any changes unless they’re weighed by our checks and balances.”

Cata, a particularly haughty dragon, spat, “Why? Will you have us traveling and writing more tabloids and copying chest upon chest upon chest of handwritten articles until you agree? There’s no checks and balances here, not since Surface went into his coma. It’s just you versus Taradiddle.”

A discontented rumble arose among the crowd. Cata was right. The Company had three leaders making decisions, with Surface being one of them.

Someone said, “Aren’t you Heads supposed to get input from us, the clan, before you make decisions?”

A chorus of “Yeah!” and “That’s right!” erupted.

“And I say we join a circus!” shouted another dragon.

“No! We need structure!” howled another.

Another argument ensued among all fifty-odd clan members. They were all so adamant in their positions, there was no quieting anyone. Cobalt strained his voice trying to shout over everyone, but he only added to the cacophony. Exasperated, Lior threw up her claws and stormed out of the common room.

Taradiddle sat on high on her podium, watching her clan argue with a smirk.


	2. Prompt 2: Milk (DRV3 Shuichi)

As Shuichi pulled on his jacket, his aunt called from the kitchen, “Walk safely!”

“I will!” He stepped out onto the front porch, down the driveway, out to the sidewalk. The concrete was still wet from the early-hour drizzle. Droplets clung to blades of grass and leaves on bushes. The sun hid behind white clouds. The morning air was chilly and damp.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he strode down the neighborhood road. Being a muggy weekend, nobody wanted to be outside early. Seldom a car passed by, lights shining in rough splotches on the slick road. Small birds twittered in nearby trees. Their song was Shuichi’s only company, not that he minded. It was peaceful on the weekends. Had it been sunnier, he would have settled the back patio of his uncle’s house to read.

As he neared a main road, an orange shape on the sidewalk in front of him caught his eye. A cat, its belly sagging and long tail swishing back and forth. Shuichi’s eyebrow arched. There was a chubby cat who lived in his neighborhood — Pancake; he pleaded with any passersby for a stroke under the chin — but he was brown flecked with gold, and likely to be indoors with his owners. The cat before him strutted in Shuichi’s direction, stopped within a stone’s throw, and flopped onto its side. A friendly gesture.

“Hello,” cooed Shuichi in a high pitched voice. Before he could get close enough to pet it, the cat stood and walked to the corner of the block near the main road. He paused to watch it. He liked petting the neighborhood cats but knew not all of them wanted the interaction. More to the point, he was on an errand to buy milk from the corner store, so he didn’t want to spend too much time playing with a cat.

It flopped over again and mewed plaintively, gazing at him with dark amber eyes.

“So you want scratchies after all, kitty?” Shuichi sang. Drawing near slowly, he crouched down and held out his hand. The orange cat got up and stepped close, sniffing his fingers. He leaned further. The cat ducked under his petting hand and, with another whiny meow, ambled around the corner.

Shuichi straightened up and followed. It was the direction he was headed, anyway. The paunchy cat was lying on the damp concrete but once again walked off at his approach. It glanced back at him frequently. What peculiar behavior.

Near the end of the block, it rounded the next corner. Shuichi stopped there and leaned on a streetlight post to watch. He had to cross the street to get to the corner store down the way, but the cat had him curious. It checked over its shoulder and, seeing he wasn’t following, took three steps towards him and rolled over.

“You want me to follow you, huh?” He pushed off the light post and turned the corner with the pleading animal. It kept its distance until one third of the way down the block, meowing at the water trickling in the gutter. A higher-pitched meow answered back. 

Stepping off the sidewalk, Shuichi crouched by the curb. Frigid water dribbled into a drainage opening in the curb. Urgent mews squeaked from within, echoing in the narrow drain. The big orange cat — the mother, he concluded — pressed her face into it from above, then gazed up at Shuichi as if to say, “See? I can’t fit down there.”

“Don’t worry, babies,” he crooned, reaching into his pocket for his smartphone. He shined its flashlight into the drain. The kitten was a shivering ball of wet, dirty fur, but its blue eyes caught the light. It uttered the biggest mew its little body could muster. “I see you, baby. I’m coming.”

Water from the pavement bled through the front of his jacket when he lay flat on his stomach. He reached into the drainage pipe. Groped along its dank, slimy walls. The gutter’s trickle soaked his sleeve up to his shoulder. His fingertips met softness. Trembling under his touch, the kitten cried out again. “I know, I know. I’ve got you, baby…” Finding its head, he pinched the kitten’s scruff and gingerly pulled it from the pipe. Cradling it, he moved to sit against the wall, away from the road. “Here we go. You’re safe now, baby.”

Shuichi opened his jacket and held the tiny, shivering creature close. Its dirty wet fur would stain his shirt, but he would live. He petted the kitten down its back, orange and white under the grime. It didn’t feel bonier than it should have — at least, not to his knowledge. Its mother must have been taking great care of it. The thought warmed his heart.

The mother cat thrust her head into his arms to lick her kitten. Shuichi whispered soothingly, “Yes, here’s your baby. He’s safe now, and very cute.” He stroked her head with one tentative finger. She didn’t seem to mind; she was busy tending to her young.

A few minutes more, and the orange cat lifted her kitten by its nape. Shuichi handed it over, and she effortlessly hop up onto the wall above his head. He stood to watch her leap down into some bushes and out of sight.

Shuichi turned to walk back to the street corner. The morning air was biting cold now. He shrugged out of his saturated jacket and carried it on his arm as he rounded the corner. Uncle had the heater turned on when he stepped out. It would be nice to get back to his warm house and enjoy a cup of tea.

“Ah, I forgot the milk!” he exclaimed to himself, spinning on his heel to walk back to the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had 1 hour. I took 2 and a half. But I think it was worth it, to be honest. Probably my proudest prompt so far.


	3. Prompt 4: Betrayal (DRV3 pregame AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning:** tickling.
> 
> This was something I wrote in response to [a prompt I asked someone else to do](https://damecosquillas.tumblr.com/post/612934659605774336/could-you-pls-do-9-i-dont-like-people-but) on tumblr. You have to read that first, in order for this one to make full sense.
> 
> I left out honorifics because I felt weird using them. :U

Akamatsu turned from the busy main road into a park halfway down the block. A plastic convenience store bag swung from her fist. “This way. This will save us some time.”

At her side, Saihara matched her brisk pace. Noonday sunlight filtered through the canopy of the trees. Tangled bushes dotted with red berries grew here and there. Up ahead was a children’s playground, where two moms pushed their toddlers on a swingset. The sidewalk on the other end of the park was just visible from where they entered.

Saihara’s heart raced with giddiness. As was typical for her, Akamatsu had invited him to her house to watch Danganronpa reruns. She’d called some other friends who would show up a bit later, but for now, as they strolled through the wooded park, they were virtually alone.

It was time, the perfect time to enact his revenge.

He purposefully lagged behind two steps to observe her. She watched the activity on the playground up ahead. Saihara let himself admire how she looked. The sheen of her blonde hair. How her hips swayed with each step. Her slender fingers closed on her shopping bag. Then, he said, “Ah, Akamatsu?”

“Hm?” She was mid-turn to look back at him when he shoved her down. They tumbled into some scraggled bushes on the side of the path. Cheap snacks spilled from her dropped bag. The pair wrestled on the ground until Saihara had her pinned, sitting on her waist, holding her wrists down beside her head.

“Saihara, what the hell?” Akamatsu struggled to free her wrists to no avail. For a skinny stick boy, Saihara was unexpectedly strong.

His heart was pounding even more now. The first part of his plan was a success. Each time Akamatsu yanked her wrists against his hands, he moved them upwards above her head, inch by inch. There was a crazed look in his eye when he asked, “Do you remember that one time we were watching Danganronpa, and I said I wouldn’t kill you, hypothetically?”

Akamatsu paled.

Saihara couldn’t hold back his own evil chuckles. “I changed my mind!”

He took both of her wrists with one hand in an awkward grip and launched his attack. His free hand squeezed above her hipbone. Her reaction was an immediate, guttural, “ _Nooo!!_ ”

“Tickle, tickle, Akamatsu~”

Akamatsu hooted, legs flailing futilely beneath him, as Saihara pinched his way up one side of her ribcage. His fingers danced across her soft stomach. He poked her sides over and over. Akamatsu’s eyes squeezed shut, and she shook her head to and fro, flinching and laughing with every blow.

“Wow, how embarrassing! For you, that is,” teased Saihara. He skittered his nails under her arms. One of her wrists shifted in his grip. He pressed down more tightly.

“You’ll regret this—!” she managed to shout around her cackling.

“Are you really in a position to make threats right now?” Saihara paused to survey his work. Akamatsu’s hair was a rustled mess. Her entire face was flushed pink. She cracked open one lavender eye to glower. She gulped air.

“You’re dead meat when I get free…” she growled. Again she yanked at her wrists, more weakly now.

The bottom of her shirt had ridden up just slightly, showing her navel. Another weak spot. It was improper, probably, but with how far he’d already come, there was no sense in Saihara considering manners now. He reached for her exposed belly button. Locked eyes with her. Relished the instantaneous drop in her expression to one of panicked pleading. He tickled.

The scream she made nearly blew out his eardrums. Saihara lost his precarious grip. Akamatsu’s hands flew at him. He struggled to retaliate. A flurry of movement. He managed to pin her down again, their fingers intertwined, but she was still pushing back.

Blushing and breathing hard, Akamatsu spat, “Give up, Saihara. Unless you plan on holding me down until the end of time, you’re done for.”

His laugh had a nervous undertone. “Are you admitting that you can’t throw me off yourself?”

Saihara realized too late that she’d wriggled one knee out from beneath him. Then she pulled her hands free. He tried to get up to flee, but it was useless. In a moment she shoved him onto his back, kneeling above his waist. “How’s that for an answer?” she retorted.

Saihara turned his face away, pulling down the brim of his hat. She snatched it and tossed it aside. “C’mon, I wanna see your face when you die.”

Pressing his now empty hand to his forehead, Saihara proffered up a pitiful smile of apology. Akamatsu’s cheeks finally regained their color. Twigs and small leaves clung to her hair. Though her eyes still burned, she sneered down at him. Saihara gripped the chest of his shirt. “Was nice knowing you…?”

Akamatsu hiked up his shirt. “Likewise,” was all she said before she descended. True to her word, it really felt like he was being killed. The way her thumbs drilling into his delicate ribs made him jolt and flail his limbs. The way her kneading his sides made him jerk to and fro. The way all ten fingernails scribbled across his bare stomach sent shivers and panic through his body.

 _“Aaahhh!”_ he shrieked through his laughter. “ _Please stop I can’t take it, please!! Akamats-aahh!_ ” He lost the ability to form words when she tickled his navel. Only squealing howls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...wait, prompt 4? Why not 3?  
> Prompt 3 ended up being the first 1/3 of my saimatsu ice-skating date fanfic, [Needing a Pick-Me-Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23936164). I included the link down here so you wouldn't be intimidated at the beginning, where I already asked you to click away and read something else. <3


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